The Convoy
by AliasCWN
Summary: Another convoy and Dietrich has time to think.


**The Convoy **

BY: AliasCWN

The dry desert air whipped past his face as Captain Hans Dietrich stood in the front of his moving halftrack. His clothes felt stiff from dried sweat, rubbing him raw where exposed to bare skin. He wanted to rub his neck where the sun beat down on it but he knew he would only irritate it more since sand had stuck to the damp skin.

The radio in the halftrack behind him blared with a song that seemed to be a favorite among his men. The music was clear even over the roar and rumble of his halftrack's engine. He could only imagine how loud it was for the men standing right next to it in the other vehicle. For a moment he considered ordering someone to turn it down but he dismissed that thought almost as soon as it occurred to him. The deserts of North Africa were boring for the men riding in the armored vehicles. They rode for hours on end staring at nothing more than mounds of sand that all looked alike. It was hot, making them sleepy. It was dry, causing dehydration unless a man was careful and made a determined effort to stay hydrated. Most didn't; they ignored their body's needs until they felt thirsty, and by then they were feeling the effects. Dehydration caused men to lose focus and energy. While the radio made it hard for them to hear anything over the sounds of the music, it kept their attention, and thus kept them awake. It helped them to focus on something, and anything was better than nothing.

There really wasn't much to draw the eye on the desert. The occasional wreckage of a plane or a vehicle sometimes dotted the desert. They served as a reminder that dangers lurked among the endless dunes. The convoy had passed some earlier, a silent reminder of how swiftly death could strike. It seemed like there were more of them every time he took a convoy or column out. Of course, that was easily explained, the enemy stalked the roads used by the convoys and columns as they searched for prey. Even now they could be out there watching him through binoculars and waiting to strike.

Here again the radio actually had little effect on the ability of the enemy to spot the convoy. The enemy might hear the music, but they would just as surely have heard the noise of the heavy engines and the sounds made by the tanks that accompanied them. While it was true that his men couldn't hear much above the radio, the enemy that haunted these hills were like jungle cats, they made very little sound until they started their attack, and then they roared! Even without the radio his men would never hear them coming until it was too late. No, it wasn't the radio he needed to worry about on these assignments. Let the men listen to the music, at least it kept them awake and perhaps alert, and maybe alive.

Most of the men with him had been on similar assignments and understood the danger all to well. Many of them had faced the fast-moving jeeps as they raced along the side of the trucks with their 50 caliber machine guns. A few had even felt the hard jolt as one of those bullets tore through his body. Those were the lucky ones; most never survived that particular experience.

He glanced behind to check on the vehicles following him. The officer standing in the next halftrack saw him looking and nodded at him. At least that soldier was alert. The men in the back of the armored vehicle were leaning against the sides but their eyes were scanning the surrounding desert. They seemed to be alert too. He allowed himself to relax his tense muscles. His men were well trained, members of the famed Afrika Korps. The experienced men took the newest ones under their tutelage and taught them the skills needed for the desert. He ran a tight camp, his life, and the lives of his men, depended on it. He searched the desert one more time for his greatest challenge, the two small American jeeps and their crews.

The supplies in the trucks behind him were badly needed by the German troops. His own base was in fairly good shape but some of the surrounding units were dangerously low on supplies. It hardly seemed possible that two small jeeps and four men could cause such havoc among Germany's finest troops. Yet they seemed to appear out of nowhere, cause unimaginable damage, and then vanish as if into thin air. They didn't actually vanish into thin air, he knew that, but that is how it seemed more often than not.

They would attack the convoy or column from behind the many dunes along the route. By the time they made their presence known the attack was already underway. They avoided the tanks and halftracks that provided escort for the supplies. Their attacks were concentrated on the trucks that carried the supplies. He begrudgingly had to give them credit for their marksmanship. His trucks carried the proof of their talents; those that made it through the attack that is. Some of those burned husks pushed to the side of the road were once part of another of his convoys. There seemed to be no pattern to the attacks that he could discover, nothing to help him predict another attack and protect his trucks. The entire situation was unsettling. Years of military school studying the tactics of others and he was pitted against an enemy that fought an unconventional war. He searched the desert again.

The convoy he was presently escorting was headed to a base that was expecting an American attack. They needed the supplies he carried. The fuel would allow them to use their armored vehicles to form a barrier between the American forces and the base. The ammunition would allow the German soldiers to not only defend the base but to launch a counter attack once the Americans began their retreat. The plans were set, based on information provided by their Arab spies. The Americans would not know what hit them. According to the information the spies had given them the Americans would be expecting an easy victory. It was his job to see to it that they met stiff resistance. Once his convoy was unloaded the base would have plenty of fuel and ammunition. There were shells for their halftracks and tanks, fuel to keep them mobile, and bullets for the soldier's rifles. Grenades and land mines filled another truck with yet another carrying crews to lay the mines. Dietrich smiled as he pictured the surprise in store for the American attackers.

His convoy had left the base under the cover of darkness to avoid being sighted by enemy spies. They had used a little used route, one that had been scouted by a plane earlier in the day. The plane had reported no sightings along their route. He had taken every precaution at his disposal to ensure that the convoy arrived at its destination safely.

The desert around him seemed deserted. A light wind blew across the desert floor and carried away the dust raised by his vehicles. His halftrack hit a deep pothole and he braced himself to keep from falling. Dust covered the lenses of his goggles making everything look hazy. With a resigned sigh he removed the goggles and carefully cleaned the lenses. He replaced the goggles and noted that the dust immediately began to collect on them again. The desert was nothing if not relentless. Using the sleeve of his shirt he wiped the sweat from his forehead. At least the goggles kept most of the sweat from dripping into his eyes. He looked back again to check on the convoy. The officer behind him had his goggles dangling around his neck. His suntanned face was turned into the wind and Dietrich wondered how he could see. His eyes were squinted but surely he was getting sand in his eyes from the dust raised by the vehicles in front of him. Later he would wonder if the lack of goggles made any difference in the outcome of the next five minutes.

Heavy guns opened fire and Dietrich looked back to see two small jeeps racing along the side of the convoy. How had they found them? Even as he turned to tell his driver to turn around he could hear the trucks exploding behind them.

The heavy guns of the jeeps drowned out the music from earlier. Now all he could hear was the sound of guns punctuated by the screams of dying men.

His driver got his halftrack turned around and they headed back toward the battle. He was shouting into the radio even as he waved his driver on. There was smoke pouring into the sky from the burning trucks. Explosions sent shrapnel flying through the air. He watched the crew of the halftrack in front of them as the vehicle ran into the shrapnel. Men were torn to ribbons as the pieces of metal pierced their bodies. His driver used the other halftrack as a shield to protect them from further explosions as he headed for the battle, only the attack was over. The two jeeps had made their run alongside the convoy and were turning to run as the halftracks started back. Now they were retreating along the other side of the trucks with guns still blazing.

Dietrich ordered his driver to give chase. The gunners fired at the departing Americans but the jeep drivers kept their vehicles weaving through the smoke and dust from the battle. The halftrack and the tank gave chase until they were clear of the convoy. Dietrich ordered a halt as the tank fired a shell and the two jeeps disappeared into the resulting cloud of dust hugging the ground. Dietrich lowered his goggles and raised his binoculars. He couldn't see anything through the heavy dust still hanging in the air. As the dust settled and thinned he caught the briefest glimpse of the two jeeps crossing the top of a dune in the distance. They disappeared over the other side. Staring after them he wondered what he could have done differently. Once again the enemy had escaped, apparently unharmed, while his convoy lay in ruins. Behind him he could hear the explosions continue as ammunition overheated in the fires. Dropping his shoulders, he allowed the binoculars to drop onto their strap. The dust cleared and there was no sign of the retreating enemy. He ordered his driver to take them back to the convoy.

His driver drove slowly back toward the remains of the convoy. Even before they reached it he could see that all three of the fuel trucks were burning. The two trucks carrying the shells for the tanks had exploded and the pieces littered the dunes on both sides of the road. His men had moved the few surviving trucks away from the ammunition trucks. With the ammunition continuing to explode as it heated it was not safe to be anywhere near them. Even fire extinguishers were useless since they couldn't approach close enough to spray the fire.

The surviving drivers were using the extinguishers on a burning truck parked on one side of the road. Whatever the truck carried it apparently wasn't combustible. As long as the fire didn't reach the gas tank there was a chance that they could salvage at least part of the cargo.

He rubbed his hand across his face as he surveyed the damage. There was little left in the way of munitions and no fuel. The truck carrying the grenades and the mines was gone, not even a frame remained. There was just a crater where it was when it exploded. The mine laying crew had survived, at least most of them. There were bodies covered with blankets lined up in a row beside one of the trucks. Wounded men were being cared for in the shade of another. Men brought more wounded as he watched.

Sighing, he ordered his driver to halt. He climbed to the ground to get the damage reports and to check on his men. Once again he would offer encouragement to the wounded, trying to keep hope alive even though some of them would not live to return to the base.

His officers had the men organized and the fires out as soon as it was safe to approach the trucks. The reports were compiled with the losses detailed. He glanced up at the sun and noticed that it had crossed the sky while they picked up the pieces. His convoy would be late arriving, those that could still make it. They weren't going to arrive with the promised supplies, not even close. Sighing, he headed for his radio to report his situation and announce that they would be late.

He waved the convoy to move out after making his report and loading the dead and wounded onto the remaining trucks. There were now more wrecks littering the desert, new reminders of the continued dangers. Headquarters would try to find enough supplies to fill a new convoy and send it to the waiting base. Perhaps it would arrive in time to save them, or perhaps not. He would deliver what remained of the convoy and then return to his own base.

Perhaps, if he was fortunate, he would meet the enemy on the way back when he wasn't burdened with a convoy to protect. He could focus all of his forces on eliminating those pesky jeeps. He couldn't allow himself to consider the possibility that they might win that encounter too. It was going to be a long war.


End file.
